


An Octopath Ending

by Owomebruh



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 20:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21185612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owomebruh/pseuds/Owomebruh
Summary: This is a short ending for an Octopath Travler fanfic. The other seven main characters, their children, and their parents all died tragically, but that was years ago. Now the only Travler left, Cyrus, feels his time running out. So in a last ditch effort to have his friends remembered, he asks for a request from (the former princess) Queen Mary.





	An Octopath Ending

“I must bid adieu, Queen Mary, for I fear that my time is coming short.” Cyrus looked to the Queen with a deep sadness in his eyes.  
“What? Professor please don’t talk like that!” It had been some time ago when an accident had occurred. In the accident, all of the other seven Travlers and their families were killed. Cyrus, being the only other survivor, had lived a much longer life than his friends. He missed his little kids playing with Alfyn’s and Ophilia’s. He missed his Dear H’aanit with all of his heart.  
Cyrus had come so close to death that he wished he really had died. He lost his ability to walk so most days he sat in his home in S’warkii. He had people to help him get around, but they all had left since Queen Mary would be staying for the week.  
“Queen Mary, long ago I lost the ability to walk. Now, right as we speak, I fear I’m wilting away. I’ll be nothing more than an empty body by next month.”  
“Professor…...is there anything then, that I could do? Mayhap a request?”  
“There ist something I’ve wanted to do before I go.”  
“Then let me fill your last request, Professor.”  
“Get me the most ink and the most paper you have then. I don’t know how long this will take…”  
“What will take, Professor?”  
“My request please?”  
“Oh...right...of course Professor. I’ll be on it right away!”  
“Thank you Queen Mary.”  
All throughout the days and through the nights, the Professor worked diligently on his story. His story was about his friends; his family. He wrote of a Cleric who always found the light of day through the Gods of the world. The Professor wrote of an all too eager merchant who was bound and determined to have an adventure of her own. He weaved stories of the bravest warrior who served his kingdom dutifully, who made friends with the enemies of his past. He wrote of a dancer wanting to strike revenge for her fallen father, only to have her world of a friend devoured in a life of lies. He wrote of an apothecary willing to help anyone who was in need of a good shoulder to lean on. He wrote boundless tales of a theif so sneaky, he snuck away from his family on more than one occasion. The Professor wrote of a fierce and brave huntress and her hunter of a father, showing him the ways of the S’warkii life. He also found some courage to write of himself and how his family came to be. He wrote of their beginnings and of their endings.  
How he missed his family; his friends. His wife and her father, their children’s laughter, his stepfather’s stern but gentle voice, the warrior’s and the thief's drunken tales at any taravan, the dancer’s skills that taught him how to dance with his wife, going to the cathedral for a church seminar and being greeted by the young and bold cleric, her apothecary husband, and their little kids. How the Professor missed it all.  
As the Professor finally let go of the ink feather, he looked around his house one last time, as the feeling of death overcame him. His piano, where he had taught his wife how to play, was covered with dust, his bed already made from when Queen Mary left just three days ago, his empty sounding house that made him want to scream at how unfair the world had been to him and his family. But of course, the last memory the Professor recalled was that first Christmas in their S’warkii house, his friends, his wife, her father, their family.  
“Professor?” Queen Mary called, but nothing was her response. She quietly opened the door, hoping to find the Professor asleep on his desk. But to her dismay, he was gone.  
“Cyrus?” Her voice was quiet, short, small. The feeling of death overcame her and her world of peace was filled with a rage of unfairness. That was until she looked on the Professor’s desk. Sheets of dried paper filled the desk, covering it so that the desk’s top was no longer visible. She quietly picked the papers up. To her relief, they were somehow in order.  
Back in Atlasdam, where the funeral would be held so Cyrus could be buried with his family, the Queen and her guard, Travis, sat quietly on her bed.  
The papers sat on the Queen’s desk, being illuminated by her flickering candle.  
“Queen Mary…” her guard said. “The funeral is starting soon. Is there anything you’d like to announce? Or would you like to remain quite?”  
“There is something….a story that Cyrus wrote. I’d like to announce that we’ll have it in our library soon.”  
“He wrote a story? What did he call it?”  
Silence filled the room as the Queen walked over to her desk. She grabbed the papers and held them in her hands, careful not to crumple her Professor’s words.  
“The story’s called….” she thought for a few moments longer, careful with her decision. “It’s called The Octopath Travlers.”  
“What a weird name.”  
“It’s not weird after you read it all, Travis.”  
“My apologies, Queen Mary. But it seems that time is of our essence. Shall we go?”  
“Let us make this travel, then to the library we’ll go.”


End file.
